


Together We Rise

by SherlockAvenger



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen, Manipulation, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockAvenger/pseuds/SherlockAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Company of Thorin Oakenshield is unexpectedly summoned to Panem, a nation ruled with an iron fist. Held captive by The Capitol, they are forced to participate in the gruesome Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The present danger always seems to be the worst, doesn't it? The mind is funny that way. It doesn't matter what you've been through in this life, or the number of terrible predicaments in which you've found yourself. Whatever demon you're facing at the moment overshadows them all.

So it was with the Dwarves of Erebor, on their quest to reclaim a stolen homeland. They had already dealt with many a hard time on that adventure, but all paled in the face of this new horror. They were losing hope, running through those endless goblin tunnels. There were too many passages leading off who knows where, not to mention the sound of a thousand feet trampling along behind them. Would they live long enough to breathe the free, clean air once more? The likelihood of that dropped a bit more with each second they spent in this foul, stifling place.

They held out hope that they would soon see the literal light at the end of the tunnel, but to no avail. No matter how far they ran, their feet merely led them through more dusty chambers and channels. They were growing tired- they weren't immortal, after all- and their pace was steadily slowing. At the sound of the creatures so close behind them, it would pick up again, but soon enough they would grow weary once more. They went on in this vicious cycle for what seemed like hours, but they knew it couldn't last forever. Sooner or later their energy would dwindle and fail, and they would succumb to the terrible monsters that dwelt here. But they wouldn't go down without a fight- oh, no. They were dwarves, and by their honor, they would fight until they drew their final breath.

————————————————————

He sat alone in the small, frigidly cold room. He had tried pacing to warm himself, but that had done nothing. He realized after a time that it must have been his nerves which made his body temperature drop so low, and not the room itself. He shrugged his shoulders and flexed his fingers to keep the blood flowing, but he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Beside him, the machine hummed powerfully. He smiled in spite of his discomfort. This was his masterpiece; his legacy. Perhaps, if this experiment succeeded, he would be allowed to spend the rest of his days in solitude, and thus, peace. He wished for this every day, but knew in his heart that it would never come to pass. He was not irreplaceable, not by a long shot. He was simply too useful, too convenient for them to release him. They wanted his brain, and the magnificent ideas which it could produce, and they would not let him go until it was old and aged, and therefore of no value to them.

"Why is this taking so long?" He muttered under his breath. It should have been fully functional by now, seeing as he had been working on it all night. He hadn't even bothered to stop and take a rest. He needed this to go smoothly- no, perfectly. He desperately needed this to go absolutely perfectly. He feared what would happen if he failed again. The thought ran through his head that if this didn't go according to plan, if they were to somehow arrive damaged or- he shuddered at the thought- dead, that he would not get another chance. He would become one of the many failures of the Capitol who simply disappeared without a trace, those who had angered the President by some foolish act and were never heard from again. No, this had to work. It must. He knew he had replicated everything correctly, and it would work flawlessly. It would not fall apart, like the last time.

As he was thinking over these things, and pondering several possible outcomes of this meeting, he saw the machine give a violent jerk and come to life. It lit up from the inside, and the oculus in the center began to glow and whir.

————————————————————

Thorin had a million different strategies running through his head- unfortunately, none of them were reasonable, and a fair few ended in the untimely deaths of several members of his company. Finally, he decided that they would run no further, but stand and do battle against this innumerable foe. If they were going to die down in a loathsome place such as this, they at least would die together.

"STOP" He bellowed, halting in his tracks. Several of them bumped and stumbled into one another at the unexpected break in pace.

"Close ranks!" Thorin shouted. They all knew what he was planning. They were none of them too fond of the idea of dying (especially here, of all places), but they had pledged to stand by their King through life and through death, and they planned on doing just that.

Soon they stood in as good a battle formation as one could make in such a narrow spot, and prepared to defend their brethren against the goblins. In their heads, they were each saying silent goodbyes, and regretting that they would meet such an end. The sound of goblins drew closer, and they waited with bated breath to see the light of their torches come round the bend. What actually happened, however, was something that none of them had anticipated. It occurred so quickly that they barely had time to register it: the massive sound of breaking stone sounded around them, and the rock beneath their feet fell through like a strategically placed trapdoor.

Instead of darkness under the stone, however, there was a chasm like unto a kaleidoscope. Colors streamed past them and through them as they fell, slipping through their fingers like quicksilver. In those few moments, it seemed as if the universe had torn apart, leaving them in a strange pocket of space where the senses forgot their original functions. They could feel the hues and shades and hear them, as if they were objects in and of themselves. It was a sensation that left them very bewildered, and for a long time afterward, though they tried with all their might, they could never describe it. It lay perfectly etched into their memories, and inaccessible.

It took a mere fraction of a second for the dwarves to come tumbling through the portal, landing unsteadily on their feet. They looked around, finding that they were in a minuscule room which was painted an impeccable white. The scientist looked upon them in wonder, simultaneously shocked and joyful that his experiment had been successful. He would be rewarded, not punished as he had feared.

Though extremely confused, the Company still had their wits about them. Upon noting the presence of a stranger in the room, their hands went immediately to their weapons, drawing them on this unknown man who stood before them. When he didn't react except to write down a few lines of some odd-looking parchment, Thorin decided to speak up.

"Who are you?" He questioned the anger in his voice palpable. He silently wondered, 'Mere moments ago we stood in a tunnel beneath a mountain. How did we end up here? Could it be that there is some secret world dwelling beneath the surface of ours?' Many thoughts occurred to him as he tried to piece together this mystery, but nothing was making any sense at all.

When the man didn't respond to him, several of the dwarves voiced their own inquiries and various threats. He made no move to answer them, only nodding to himself and studying them, occasionally breaking his watchful gaze to write something in his other-worldly journal. For it was other-worldly, was it not? Some of the other dwarves had been drawing conclusions as well, and this seemed the most plausible, however impossible it seemed. They were on a different world; they had to be, for nothing in Middle-earth looked even remotely similar to this strange place.

Another glance around the room confirmed their fears: it couldn't be Middle-earth. The walls were straight and even, constructed from some kind of metal and an immaculate cleanliness permeated the air which they breathed, though it was a stuffy sort of clean. It smelled of something strange and rather unpleasant, but they couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

There was, taking up nearly half of the room, a large metal machine. It was oddly shaped, gleaming and pulsing with an unnatural light. The man was now standing beside this, tapping certain bits of it and saying "Hmm.." to himself every once in a while. They thought they might have heard the word "unstable" uttered from his mouth, though he was mumbling in a low tone, so they couldn't be sure. He still made no move to speak to them, and the few of them that weren't studying the room around them in wonder began to talk among themselves, exchanging and comparing theories and plans.

After a short time had passed, they were thoroughly unnerved by this man's silence, and Dwalin had had enough. He made to go over to try and "persuade" the man into giving them some information, but just then the scientist turned and, with a scholarly tone in his voice, began speaking.

"I understand that you are confused. Please, allow me to be the first to welcome you."

He was about to go on, but Bilbo interrupted him.

"Excuse me, but, ah, where exactly are we?" His eyebrows rose as he spoke, indicating his growing level of annoyance.

The man smiled, as if he were talking to a child.

"You are in the Capitol."

Thorin stepped forward then.

"The capital of what?"

Looking slightly annoyed, the man replied.

"The Capitol, in the great nation of Panem."

When he offered no further explanation, Balin questioned him.

"Well you see, lad," The man was, in fact, in his forties. "We don't really know where Panem is, so you'll have to be a bit more specific."

He hesitated, carefully contemplating his next words.

'Strange,' Balin mused to himself, 'that a simple question such as mine could warrant this difficult response.'

The entire group's patience was running thin. They were on the breaking point when the man finally spoke.

"I'm afraid that I'm not qualified to inform you on the situation," At this, the entire company grew wary. "I will inform the President that you have arrived, and someone will arrange for you to meet with him." He stopped there, the look on his face telling them that he was completely aware of the fact that he was holding out on them. They wanted more information, but his tone left no room for questioning.

Choosing a different tactic to illicit information, Thorin posed another question to the man.

"Who is the President?" This was, apparently, a safe question, as the man responded immediately.

"President Snow, the leader of this fine nation." Then, further irritating them, he added: "He will answer any additional questions during the official meeting."

Turning away from the dwarves, he proceeded to pull some strange device from his pocket and speak into it. He seemed to be explaining something, as he talked for a long while, but he spoke quietly so that none of them could hear what was said. Accepting his momentary distraction, Thorin nudged Dwalin, who was standing next to him, and nodded his head toward what he took to be the door. The problem was, he couldn't really tell whether it was truly a door or not. It was a rectangular shape, bearing no other distinction than to be set a few inches into the wall. Other than that, it could've passed for another indistinguishable part of the room.

Scrapping his idea of sneaking away in favor of gaining some help, Thorin spoke to the man.

"Where is the door knob? How does it open?" He received no response, so he rolled his eyes and turned once more to the door. His intention was to break it down, but he was surprised to find that the panel glided quickly and silently into the wall at the lightest touch. Well, he wasn't going to question it. He motioned for the company to follow him, murmuring a quick command for them to be quiet. He wished to remain undetected for as long as possible, not knowing what sort of welcome they would find in this place. He only hoped that the man they had met upon their arrival had not already informed the other inhabitants of their whereabouts.

Curiously enough, the man in question had not tried to stop them, seeming to barely notice their exit in favor of putting his full attention into the machine that had brought them into this strange land.

Looking around him, he found that he could see nothing at either end of the long, blankly white hallway in which they stood. For all he knew, it could go on infinitely. After the strange turn of events this day had taken, he honestly wouldn't be surprised. There were no doors, or other passageways leading off this one. Then again, there could be some further down that he could not see yet. Making a split-second decision, he turned to the left and began walking, the company trailing along behind him.

They moved slowly, making a great racket due to the metal they wore, the closeness as which they were forced to walk, and the general loudness that is typical of dwarves. It was made worse by the fact that the noise they were making reverberated off of the marble walls and flooring which surrounded them. Bilbo cringed sympathetically, quite grateful that he wasn't wearing armor and shoes which would only add to the clamor. Looking around, he chuckled as he realized that the dwarves had, consciously or not, positioned themselves with their brothers by their sides.

They had hardly made it two hundred feet down the endless hallway when a roar erupted from behind them. A great blast of searing heat and wind knocked each and every one of them off of their feet and sent them hurtling onto the floor. They landed in a tangled heap, and when they finally were able to get sorted out and look for the cause of the commotion, they were shocked to discover a gaping hole blown through the wall, originating in the doorway of the room from which they had just come. A smoky-black color had charred the white marble up to where they were now standing.

"There's no doubt about it: that man is dead. Unless he found some clever means of escape, which seems unlikely" Balin spoke in a slightly snide tone of voice. Indeed, none of them were feeling too kindly toward the irksome man. Still, they were rather sorry he had met such a fate.

"What do we do now?" Bofur asked, looking around the group for an answer. Most of them were still staring at the room which had been the source of the explosion, but Thorin was gazing down the hall with an odd look on his face. At the sound of Bofur's voice, his attention snapped back. He leaned down to pick up the weapon which he had dropped.

"We will keep moving in the direction we were heading and hope that we see the light of day soon. I am tired of being trapped indoors."

Half an hour later, they were still trudging along the empty passageway. Not even those of them with the sharpest eyesight could spot the end of the hall. Many of them were beginning to wonder whether they should have gone in the opposite direction, but Thorin insisted that they keep moving.

"It has to end somewhere." He would justify grouchily.

Just then the noise of footsteps, not their own, sounded in the otherwise-empty passageway. Ahead, it seemed, was another hallway which broke off from this one, but they had been too far back to see it before now. 12 men stepped out in formation, pointing their strange weaponry at them. They were clothed completely in white; save the strange black-glass helms they wore to cover their faces. This made it difficult for their eyes to separate them from the pristine walls and floor. Their uniforms were an odd choice, to be sure, for they gave the illusion that they were somehow a part of the building itself.

The dwarves reacted quickly, each holding their various weaponry in a defensive position. The strange warriors made no move to attack. In fact, they made no noise at all. They stood like statues, as if they were awaiting a command. Then, another man appeared from the side-hallway. He was old, and wore a dark suit with a white rose pinned to it. His bearing and overall appearance made it obvious that he was in charge.

"Greetings, honored guests" He spoke with the voice of a snake; smooth, sweet, but venomous nonetheless. Thorin stared straight at him, unflinching.

"And who might you be?" He questioned, his voice cold. He didn't feel like much of an 'honored guest' at the moment.

The man smiled, the expression grotesque on his face.

"I am President Snow, and you are Thorin Oakenshield. I'm not one for beating around the bush, so let's dispense with the usual formalities, shall we? I have a proposition for you."


	2. Chapter 2

The company stood silently in the hallway, staring at this mysterious man. Thorin took several steps forward so that he was standing directly in front of the man, and unconsciously positioned himself between the President and the Company.

"What sort of proposition?" He warily asked after a moment.

President Snow inhaled deeply, taking a moment to decipher this odd little man in front of him, and then spoke.

"That I would like to discuss in private, if you do not mind."

Thorin smiled grimly. He knew that if he agreed, they would most likely be led into a trap. On the other hand, did not have many options open to him. In a desolate hall in this unknown land, they were trapped, not to mention outnumbered by the strangely-garbed guards. He was thinking carefully. 'Their weapons look inferior to ours. We are warriors, and surely we could overpower these weak Men if the need arose.' He thought.

"Where would you deem private? These halls seem fitting enough. We've walked for miles and have seen neither hide nor hair of any other."

President Snow bore an annoyed look on his face. It was apparent that he was unused to someone questioning him.

"I would host you in my private study, so that we are not interrupted."

Seeing that Thorin was still doubtful, he added, "It would be more comfortable."

Thorin merely scoffed.  
"I am not looking for comfort, I am looking for a way out of this forsaken place."

He had made up his mind that while the information they sought was being withheld from them, he would not bother with polite speech, no matter the station of this Man.

The President's face hardened, obviously frustrated with their lack of cooperation.

"I will answer all of your questions and more. But here-" He gestured around them. "-we run the risk of being overheard. The plans of which I would speak to you are not yet common knowledge, and it would not do for them to get out now. If you will come with me, you alone, I will have your friends made comfortable while we hold our discussion."

At this, the rest of the company burst into outrage, and Thorin was none too happy himself.

"No. We stick together." He would never willfully allow himself to become separated from the company, especially in a place such as this.

"I assure you, they will be completely safe." The President went on.

"It is simply that the matter of which I would tell you must be kept between a select number-"

"Each one of these dwarves I would trust with my life." Thorin interrupted, indignant at the man's insinuation that one of his own would betray him.

Snow held up a placating hand.

"Be that as it may, I will not tell you of these matters in front of just anyone."

He stood like a stone statue, unbending. Balin then offered a compromise.

"What if he were to take only a small number of us, then?"

Several of the dwarves began to protest, not liking the idea of being split up. Dwarves do not trust lightly in any situation, and given their circumstances they were not about to make an exception, but Thorin held his hand up to silence them. He was silent for a beat, appraising Balin's suggestion, and then gave in. He knew that it was hardly any use losing what little good will they had with these people, in any case.

"Balin, Dwalin, and Fili. With me." He looked back to Snow, challenging him to refuse. Snow looked displeased with the arrangement, but nodded nonetheless. He turned to the men surrounding him and made a sweeping motion with his hand to the left, indicating the ones to whom he was speaking.

"Take the others to the prepared rooms."

The word 'prepared' stuck in the dwarves' heads. Had they somehow been expecting them?

The men he had commanded stepped forward, gesturing for the dwarves to follow them. The company grudgingly did so, some of them still kicking up a fuss over being divided. Fili, who was more than a bit upset that his brother was among those being taken away, watched them retreat down the dazzlingly white passageway. The others were already walking at a swift pace down the adjoining hallway. One of the guards that was accompanying them made to nudge him on, but Fili merely slapped his hand away and jogged to catch up with his Uncle.

They strode down another long hallway much like the one they had started in, except this one seemed narrower somehow and had multiple passages branching off from it. Several tense minutes passed, neither party breaking the heavy silence that blanketed the air.

At last they arrived at the end of the passageway. They stood in front of a set of grand-looking double doors, made of a darker marble than the rest of the place. Snow placed his palm onto a small rectangle that rested in the wall beside the doors, and the dwarves were startled to see a flash of light run the length of his hand. As soon as this happened, the rectangle glowed green for a fraction of a second, and the heavy doors swung inward.

A surprisingly normal-looking study greeted their eyes. It was furnished with a dark wooden desk and several leather chairs, as well as having bookshelves lining the walls. The most glorious sight for them, however, were the windows that peered out into the clear blue sky. Having just gone through a terrible thunderstorm the previous day and then the ordeal of being trapped in the Goblin tunnels, they each felt as if it had been a lifetime since they had last seen such a beautiful sight. Dwarves were accustomed to spending weeks on end under their mountain without a glimpse of the sun, but that did not mean they did not appreciate the sight when it was available. They hoped that their friends were able to enjoy such a view, as well.

The President's poisonous voice cut through the silence.

"Now, then. I believe we're ready to start. Please have a seat." He walked around behind the desk and sat in the high-backed chair (which, Thorin couldn't help but notice, looked regal enough to be a throne), facing them.

An uncomfortable feeling pervaded the dwarves' minds. They knew instinctively that this man was no friend of theirs, nor would he ever be. He was a snake. Sneaky and conniving, he was the sort of person who would just as soon kill them as befriend them. They read this in every part of him. His face, the way he stood, the tone in which he spoke. You could practically feel the waves of deception rolling off of him, endeavoring to knock them under the surface and drown them.

"Now that we are comfortable, will you answer our questions?" Dwalin asked in his usual blunt manner.

"Of course, of course. Though perhaps you'll allow me a moment to explain myself. I think my little speech will inform you on many of the subjects you would inquire about."

When Thorin inclined his head in agreement, Snow began.

"Long ago, our world was thrown into chaos. Due to various natural disasters, many of our largest countries were destroyed. Billions of people were killed, and there was very little land left on which we could live. Our ancestors struggled to survive on what few resources were left. Many died, but some, the strong, persevering ones, lived. And from the hard work of these people was born the great nation of Panem.

"By working together, they soon had a system of government, with the Capitol as the head. They divided themselves into 13 districts, each with a separate purpose in mind. One for clothing, one for mining coal, one for agriculture, etcetera. Our people lived in peace for nigh on a century before tragedy struck. This tragedy was born from the ill desires of men. Greed, discontent, and bitterness were the seeds which, when left to grow, led to betrayal. The districts turned on the Capitol, the very city that had fairly distributed food, clothing, medicine, and justice to them over the years. They blamed us for their unhappiness, and thus tried to destroy us.

"There were many casualties in that war, but for every Capitol citizen that died, two rebels were killed. They soon learned that we would not be so easily defeated. We fought them back into submission, and one district was completely annihilated. Since then, we live in a hard-won peace. We have certain ways of keeping them in order, as occasionally a trouble-maker will rear his ugly head and try to lead another rebellion. These never last long, however. A problem we have recently been faced with is a lack of Peacekeepers to help contain these unfortunate outbreaks."

They got the feeling that he was not yet finished with his lengthy speech, but Fili broke in before he could continue.

"What is a 'peace keeper'?" He had the feeling that it was not exactly what the title implied.

"That, young man, is precisely why you're here." When Fili raised an eyebrow in question, Snow elaborated.

"Not you specifically, of course. But You." He turned to Thorin.

"A Peacekeeper is a soldier, of sorts. One who upholds and enforces the law, when necessary. My proposal to you-"

He was cut off by Thorin.

"We are in no position or mood to barter with you, not when we still have not been given the opportunity to have our questions answered."

President Snow sighed, but then resigned himself to Thorin's statement and nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

Balin spoke first.

"How did we get here?"

Snow took a moment to think about this.

"Here in Panem we have very advanced scientific knowledge. I was able to summon you."

"How, exactly?"

"By opening a portal and pulling you through it."

Each of them opened their mouths with fresh questions on their tongues, but Dwalin voiced his first.

"'Scientific knowledge' or no, how did you know about us at all?"

Again, the President took his time in answering. When he spoke again, there was an underlying hint of caution in his tone.

"Let us just say that a trusted friend informed me of you and your whereabouts."

"And who is this friend that knows so much about our business?"

"That is not important."

They were all beginning to anger at the curtness of Snow, so Thorin stood and stared down at him.

"We will not have dealings with a man who knows much and reveals so little. Tell me who your informant is."

President Snow stood as well, and they noticed that a Peacekeeper had stepped forward a pace or two from the door.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Now, did you have any other questions, or shall we move on to my idea?"

Thorin shook his head, angry over the President's blatant refusal. Before he could decide on a course of action, Fili spoke.

"Are we in another, unknown realm of Middle-earth? Or have we somehow travelled to a completely different world?"

Snow answered immediately.  
"You are on Earth. Middle-earth is similar, but, as you said, a different world."

The dwarves marveled at this for a moment, amazed at the happenings. It was scarcely imaginable that they were no longer standing on their own planet.

Thorin then asked the question that had weighed heavily on his mind from the start.

"You knew where to find is. If this.. 'friend' of yours knew our location, what else did they know of us?"

Snow considered this for a moment, and then replied.

"I know that you were on a quest, in an attempt to take back your kingdom. You were exiled from said kingdom by a fire-breathing dragon, and your people have endured great suffering as a result. That, it seems, is something we have in common."

Thorin's eyebrows drew together in confusion, and annoyance at being compared to this man and his people.

Snow went on, regardless.

"Our peoples have both endured great hardships. Once you reclaim your mountain kingdom, you will be a very powerful dwarf. If the information I have acquired is indeed correct, you will have seven armies at your disposal."

Thorin looked down for a moment, keeping careful control of his temper. Who in this strange land could have had access to such knowledge? Looking back up at the President, he supposed that now was as good a time as any to find out what it was, exactly, he wanted.

"What is your proposition, then?" He asked tersely.

Snow smiled, obviously pleased that the conversation was finally getting back to his original subject.

"I would propose an alliance, between the Dwarves of Middle-earth and the nation of Panem."

Balin answered the President first, his role as advisor to the king coming into play. His mind quickly worked through the information that Snow had given them, sorting the things that they were certain he already knew from that which could possibly be kept secret.

"We are in no position at the moment to form alliances. We were, as you said, on a quest. Our journey was nowhere near completion when you… 'summoned' us. There is simply no way we could forge a partnership at this point in time, as we currently have nothing to offer."

Snow raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"But we both know that's not true. Once your trek is finished, you will have more power than you'll know what to do with. You will have money, armies, everything you could possibly need."

Dwalin intervened.

"You just said yourself, we'll have everything we need. Why would we want to make an alliance with one who isn't even a part of our world?"

Snow spoke with a disturbing conviction in his voice.  
"Because in Middle-earth you would be a King of Dwarves. But if we allied ourselves, you would have access to our weapons technology. With our superior weaponry you could take over the entirety of your world. You could rule over all of the races, instead of just one. You would be a deity in Middle-earth."

Thorin frowned at this, not liking the man's crazed ideas.

"And what, pray tell, would you have to gain from this venture?"

Snow waved a hand dismissively. 'Probably to make whatever he is about to demand seem like very little.' He thought bitterly.

"I have heard that dwarves are excellent craftsmen. We would commission armor, and the like." A suspiciously small price to ask for what he was offering. They thought he was finished, but almost as an afterthought he added:  
"And if we were ever in need of reinforcements, say in some battle or war, you would send a few of your armies to lend us their help."

Thorin sighed through his nose. Of course, the man merely wanted this as an extension of his own power.

"I have no desire to rule over all of Middle-earth, I much prefer my own race." Still shaking his head, he added, "I decline your offer of an alliance."

Balin thought perhaps that was rushed. He didn't like the man any more than Thorin did, but he still thought that such a powerful ally could not go amiss. Terms and conditions could be negotiated once Erebor was reclaimed, they needn't agree to anything right away. But his king was his king, and he would go along with his decision.

Snow smiled, seeming to convey patience, though his eyes gleamed with a sort of maniacal anger.

He spoke slowly.

"I would urge you to reconsider."

"No. I have made my decision." Thorin's tone brooked no refusal.

The President's hands clenched the arms of his chair, deep in thought.

"Very well." He spoke at last. "Guards!" He called past their shoulders. They jumped up and drew their weapons, preparing for a fight. Snow held up his hand, and the Peacekeepers stopped in their tracks.  
"Perhaps before we begin exchanging blows, we should show our friends here just what our weapons can do?"  
He looked down at the dwarves.

"These are called guns, for future reference."

One of the Peacekeepers aimed his gun at a picture on the wall and his finger pulled the trigger. A bang resounded in the room, and a projectile flew across the room, hitting the center of the painting. It was impossibly fast, more swift even than an arrow. It left a large, gaping hole, and the canvas was blackened around the edges.

They rapidly looked back and forth between the hole and the weapon in shock. Such a weapon would surely cause an uproar if brought to Middle-earth.

They quickly regained their wits. Thorin spoke aloud: "I care not what you offer us. I have no need of an alliance with the likes of you."

Resentfully putting their weapons down, they allowed themselves to be taken by the Peacekeepers and dragged out of the room. At least this way, they thought, they had a chance of being reunited with the rest of the company, and they could proceed to find a way out of this nightmarish place.

Snow, meanwhile, sunk back into his chair with a frustrated sigh. He knew that the dwarves were a stubborn folk, but he certainly hadn't anticipated this much trouble.

He sat there a long while, contemplating the various means by which he could get them to agree to his 'alliance'. Torture was always one of his first choices, but they struck him as the sort that would hold out for a long while, and time was no longer a thing to be discounted for him. No, he needed something that would gain him quick, easy access to the Kingdom. He wasn't getting any younger, and he wished to see this plan carried through. After all, if he died before his schemes were fulfilled, what was the point in any of it?

For a time nothing came to him. He rehashed the same useless thoughts over and over, until…

Like a flash of lightning, a plan emerged from the recesses of his mind. It would take much careful plotting, but if executed correctly it could work for him in more ways than one. 'Like killing two birds with one stone.' Snow thought with a rare moment of glee. Smirking to himself, he removed a pen from his desk and went to work.


	3. Chapter 3

There wasn't a single member of the Company that was pleased with the idea of being divided, and those who were being separated from their leader were especially forlorn. Most of them were close friends even before the quest to Erebor (the exception being Master Baggins, whom none of them had even heard of before arriving on his doorstep in the Shire), but after months of traveling with one another and braving many perils together, those who had at first been unfamiliar now counted each and every dwarf (and, to some extent, the Hobbit) as a brother. Being separated from any of those brothers was unwelcome, and given the strangeness of their surroundings they were largely uncomfortable.

They were ushered down the long hallway, eventually reaching a fork in the passage. Apparently they had not been as far from the end as they had originally thought. They turned left, and the dwarves of the company were careful to stay in a tight knot in the corridor, keeping Bilbo, Ori, and Kili in the middle, effectively shielding them from the guards. They didn't want either of them slipping behind and being stolen away by one of these strange, silent men, or running the risk of getting lost in this eerie it was, indeed, quite desolate; there were no other people moving about, and the entire place felt distinctly un-lived-in, as if it were all brand new.

A few of them, such as Bofur and Bifur, attempted a light-hearted conversation, but it quickly died away. They did not trust these men enough to speak Westron around them, and it was considered an abomination to utter words in Khuzdul, the secret dwarven tongue, in front of those who might seek to learn it and divulge their secrets. Therefore, they walked in silence down the length of this brightly-lit aisle.

After a short period of time they were suddenly halted. Several of the guards continued to walk down the hallway, stopping one by one until each of them stood in front of a separate room. They opened the doors and gestured inside, obviously expecting the dwarves to split up and all take different rooms. Bofur spoke, capturing the attention of the man next to him.  
"Actually, we would prefer to stay in the same room, if it's all the same to you." When he received no reply, he tried to explain.  
"It's just that the past few days have been a bit busy, you see, and we'd appreciate some time to talk a few things over between ourselves." He smiled cheerfully, hoping that the man understood.

The guard, as it appeared, did not. He motioned impatiently for them to move along, and when none of them budged, they tried to physically drag them into the rooms. That was a major mistake on their part. As soon as the first hands were laid on the company, they sprang into action. They punched and yelled and fought until the majority of the Peacekeepers were sprawled across the ground. They were battling the last few, who were a touch stronger than the rest, when one of them stopped to speak for a moment into a small device that had previously been attached to his belt. It was the first time they had heard any of them talk, and they were almost surprised to find that his voice sounded like that of a normal Man.

Their moment of surprise was short-lived, however, and was quickly replaced with anxiety as dozens more of these soldiers poured out of the varying hallways they had passed. Outnumbered five to one, they were dragged kicking and shouting into the rooms, stripped of their weapons, and thrown to the floor. The doors were promptly slammed in their faces.

They jumped up, trying the doorknobs in an attempt to escape, but it was no use, as they had been locked from the outside. They were prisoners, they realized, until Thorin agreed to the proposition set forth by the President. They wondered whether that had been the plan all along, to hold them hostage as a means of blackmail, and why they had not seen through the devious plot before.

Another thought occurred to a few of them, that perhaps there really was no deal to be struck. Had their group been divided merely to make them easier to capture? That seemed unlikely, as President Snow had almost refused the other dwarves who were to accompany Thorin, but then he was a treacherous-looking man. Maybe his plot was to get Thorin alone and hold him for ransom to...to someone. There were multiple holes in this, but they were, each and every one of them, too worried about their kin to them.

While some of the dwarves sought to break down the door with sheer force (and the small knives which a few of them had concealed on their persons), a few of the others realized that such efforts would be in vain, and took to wandering around the strange rooms in which they had been placed.

There was not much to look at, as the rooms were mostly bare (probably to keep them from attempting to hurt the guards with whatever furniture they could pick up and throw), containing a bed and nightstand, and no windows. On the small nightstand (which, they found, was bolted to the floor) sat a strange gadget, the shape reminiscent of an arch. Bilbo, who hadn't ventured to escape the confines of the room, picked it up hesitantly. It was unlike any other contraption which he had seen. It was sleek and black, and it shone effervescently, reflecting at every curve the brilliant light which encapsulated the room.

Turning it over in his hands, he found on the inside a number of small squares that were raised slightly from the surface of the device, and lined up next to each other. He tentatively pressed on the first one and nearly jumped out of his skin when the wall opposite him abruptly changed. It was no longer a blank white, but showed a deep blue sky, full of twinkling stars and the bright light of an illuminated moon.

Bilbo marveled at this for a moment. Was it nighttime? He supposed that out of every odd thing which had happened that day, a sudden change from day to night was not the queerest. He took a few steps toward the window and frowned. He had expected to see the ground below, but could not. He walked all the way over to it and, peering down, found that he could see naught but the heavens. Were they so high up? It seemed impossible.

Meandering back toward the bed, he picked up the little device again. After pressing several more of the strange little squares, he was thoroughly disheartened. The scene had changed from the night sky to a forest, and from that to a bright, sunny city which was full of citizens. He did not know what it was, exactly, but he was sure that this was no ordinary window. This meant, of course, that he could really have no clue as to where they actually were.

In another room not far from his, Kili had been unsuccessfully trying to force his way out of the room. He quickly lost interest in this, however, and wandered further into the quarters. Searching for another exit, his eyes quickly discovered a door in the far wall. He doubted that it would be open, seeing as he was a prisoner and they wouldn't leave such an easy escape in the open, but he decided to try it just in case.

He was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. The door swung silently on its hinges, revealing, instead of the exit which he had cautiously hoped for, another small room. It was dark in there, compared to the main chamber. A cursory glance revealed a toilet, and a marble sink with a gleaming silver faucet. Stepping through the doorway, he looked around. On the wall, of all places, was a switch. Moving it with a flick of his finger, he nearly jumped in shock as the space lit up around him. Turning the switch back to its original position, he found that the light disappeared once again. Peering out toward the other doorway, he found a similar switch. Smiling, he played with this for several minutes, enjoying the modern tool.

He new that on the scale of things that had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours, this was very small, but he couldn't help but take a little joy in this discovery. A light which could be lit and extinguished at the slightest touch.. what would they think of next?

Many more surprises lurked round the corner, but at the time, he did not know it, and he was all the happier for it. As they say, ignorance is bliss.

After a time, all of the dwarves had given up their pursuit of leaving the rooms, so they merely sat and waited for whatever torment was sure to come. After several hours (they thought it must have been hours, though without any natural light to go by they were forced to rely on guesswork), the doors to their rooms were opened, and a large basket was pushed into each chamber. The doors were quickly pulled shut behind them.

Warily opening the baskets, the dwarves were glad to find bundles of food and bottles (which, for a safety precaution on the Capitol's side, were made from plastic) of water. Underneath that were a couple of clean shirts and a pair of trousers, though they had no interest in wearing the strange clothing customary in this place. They happily ate the food supplied to them, but then went back to worrying for the safety and well-being of their comrades.

Meanwhile, Thorin, Fili, Balin, and Dwalin were being led against their will to rooms much the same as those which their friends were being kept in. Much like their companions, they struggled against the confines of their temporary dwellings for some time. After a while, however, they decided that it would be worthwhile to get some sleep. After all, they had no idea what they would have to endure in the coming days, so getting some rest beforehand would be ideal. And, they reasoned, it would take their minds out of consciousness for a time, thus allowing them a few hours of reprieve from the worry that had begun to gnaw on them.

All of the dwarves ultimately came to the same conclusion, and laid themselves down to rest. They slept fitfully for a stretch of time, each suffering various bizarre and unsettling dreams which disturbed their slumber.

Thorin jolted awake at the sound of his door opening. A lifetime of unfortunate reflexes kicked in, and he jumped to his feet, standing in a defensive position. He sorely missed his weapon, wishing that he hadn't surrendered it so easily.

He readied himself to battle the guard and depart from this room, planning to somehow find his kin and get them all far away from this horrid place. The person who entered the room, however, was one whom he found he could not simply fight off. It was a young woman, dressed in strange garb, carrying a tray of food. He assumed that she was some sort of servant in this place. Resuming a normal stance, he watched as she closed the door behind her, and walked forward to the small table which sat in the middle of the floor.

"Are there still guards outside?" He questioned her. She stared back at him, eyes wide from what may have been fear, but said nothing. She merely set the platter down on the small table in the room and began to back away.

"Wait!" He called, and she visibly flinched. Nevertheless, she stood still.

"Are there guards outside?" He spoke in a lower tone, trying not to startle her. If there were no Peacekeepers there at the moment, he could merely slip past this girl and go to rescue his friends. He waited a moment, but she remained silent. Wondering if she was merely afraid of him, he held his hands up in a placating gesture.

"I'm not going to hurt you," He assured her. "I would simply like an answer to my question."

When, after a moment, she had still said nothing, he began to get impatient. Thinking hard for a moment, he came to the conclusion that if President Snow wanted him alive, surely he would order his guards not to kill him in any altercation they may have. So, if he left the room and found Peacekeepers wandering about, he could, most likely, overpower them, as they would be holding back. Deciding that this was the best option available to him, he began to walk past the girl in the direction of the door.

She quickly took several steps back to avoid him, and he noticed that when she looked from him to the door she looked rather sorrowful. He had no time to sit and puzzle out her strange reaction, however. He had a mission to accomplish.

He had just reached the door when it abruptly swung inward, narrowly missing his face. In marched two Peacekeepers, and he saw several more lined up on the wall outside. They stationed themselves on either side of him and grabbed his arms, jerking him forward out of the room. He briefly considered putting up a fight and breaking free of them, but then the thought occurred to him that they might be taking him to his company. Acquiescing to their wishes, he walked at a brusque pace alongside them. The Peacekeepers who had been waiting outside quickly moved to stand in front of and behind him, blocking out any view he might've had before.

Over their heads, however, he noticed what looked like dozens more of the guards in little masses walking down the hall. Sneaking a quick glance behind him, he found the same sight. He wondered what sort of danger they expected, that they need employ the use of so many of their soldiers. He shrugged it off in favor of contemplating the more pressing issues, such as his and his company's quick and unobtrusive exit from this world and back into their own.

After a surprisingly short walk (It was more of a jog for the dwarf. He had some bit of trouble keeping up with the Peacekeeper's long strides), they turned left into a room that looked almost identical to the chamber he had previously occupied, albeit much larger. He had noticed several paces back that the Peacekeepers ahead of him had begun to stop and turn. Now, entering the room, he understood the necessity of the vast number of guards. He looked around at the dwarves present, and a glad feeling entered his heart at the sight of his kin. A rapid head-count, however, revealed several of them to be absent. But no, here they were, entering behind him. He hastily surveyed each of them, and was pleased to find them unscathed.

He quickly moved to address them, moving in close and using a low tone of voice to guard his words due to the presence of the Peacekeepers.

"We must find a way to leave this place." He stated urgently. Instantly, Gloin spoke up.

"Why not just battle these men and be done with it? They may be tall, but they're skinny, and I'll reckon there's not much muscle to them. It should be easy. We can take 'em."

Shaking his head, Thorin explained, casting a cautious glance around at the guards.

"Their weapons… I've seen what they can do. They could kill us in an instant if we're not careful. No, better to wait for a time when there are fewer of them around. I doubt that we'll ever be left completely alone, but if there are only a small number of them we can chance it."

While irritated at the thought of waiting another moment in this infernal place, they all agreed that this was probably the best course of action they could take while in their present situation.

Thorin went on:

"Were you all taken to separate rooms, as we were?" At their nods of affirmation, he sighed.

"Then after.. whatever this is, they will probably return us to the same cells. I had hoped to be kept in the same room, which would make escape much easier." He thought on this for a moment, and Kili had an idea.

"We might convince them to allow us to stay in the same space. They must think that they have the upper hand, with their weapons and the sheer number of guards they possess. Perhaps we'll have the opportunity to show them that we dwarves are not to be trifled with." He suggested with a grin.

While they were all voicing their agreement or pointing out the holes in the plan, there was an unexpected arrival which sent waves of anger roiling through them. President Snow stepped in, flanked by even more Peacekeepers (the room was getting crowded, and they were thankful for the size of it else they be elbow-to-elbow), presumably to ensure that none of the prisoners would get any bright ideas about attacking him, and to keep him out of harm's way if they did.

"Snow." Thorin practically spat the name. He had previously decided (after being unceremoniously escorted out of the man's study and into what was, essentially, a cell) that he would no longer use the formal title that he so obviously did not deserve.  
"What is the meaning of our imprisonment?" Of course, he realized that it was just a tactic to prod him into giving Snow his way, but he wished to hear it from the man's own mouth.

Snow smiled venomously at them. He then spoke such a dangerous tone of voice that they knew he was up to something.

"The imprisonment… yes, well, that was a bit unfortunate, wasn't it? I'm afraid that, however uncomfortable it might've been, it was necessary. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would have to speak to you again, and better to have you all in one spot than have to round everyone up, yes? That could've taken a while."

"If that were the case, you could've merely assigned us an area to stay in and explained yourself. As it were, I believe you had a definite motive for keeping us locked up and separate." Thorin rebutted. He stared daggers at the man, daring him to refute his claim. To his surprise and fury, Snow laughed at him.

"I suppose, due to the nature of our previous talk, I should've known that you would be suspicious." Did the man think he was stupid?

"That is, I must confess, true. After all, we can't have you and your friends wandering all over our base, now can we? You could get yourselves into all sorts of trouble."

"Indeed." Thorin uttered darkly. The rest of the company knew that tone well, and thought that perhaps it wasn't a bad idea of Snow's to bring that many Peacekeepers, after all.

"You're playing a dangerous game here."

Snow raised an eyebrow, and then nodded.

"Perhaps that is so, Master Dwarf. Though I don't think it's much of a game if only one player holds the power to make a move, wouldn't you agree?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Perhaps that is so, Master Dwarf. Though I don't think it's much of a game if only one player holds the power to make a move, wouldn't you agree?"

Thorin tilted his head to the side.

"You might not be as powerful as you think; not against us, at any rate. If you know as much about dwarves as you claim, you would realize that we are not to be trifled with." He said darkly.

"Nevertheless, you are in my kingdom now, and under my rule. You cannot make a move without my approval. The little incident in my study earlier should have told you that." Snow warned.

The Company acquiesced to this point, knowing beyond any doubt that he was correct. They had tried to defy him once already, and found that they were painfully unsuccessful. They did not know what they could do but agree to his terms, however frustrating that may be. However, while dwarves have many qualities,'rational' was not one of them. They would try to thwart his plans until there was no fight left in them. Reckless or not, it was their way. They could not let this man have any claim whatsoever in Erebor. The mere thought of this treacherous man being anywhere near their sacred homeland made them shudder.

Thorin was thinking all these things and more, wondering how on earth he would get them out of this. His previous efforts had been in vain, and he knew that they would have to execute a sneakier plan if they were to elude the President and his Peacekeepers. Snow obviously had specific plans for them, so how could they contravene those? The man had power not only in numbers but in weapons, and it wouldn't do them much good to escape out into his kingdom, seeing as they were no longer in Middle-earth. They could wander for the rest of their lives without ever finding a way home. Perhaps they could somehow turn the tables, and use the President to their own means…

But no. That would never work, Thorin knew. Snow was the sort of man who had no qualms about lying and cheating, and he was very practiced at it, while they had little experience in the area. Dwarves were, by nature, forthright and honest. They had little to no chance of convincingly deceiving him.

Careful to prevent his face from betraying his thoughts, Thorin pondered these things for a moment. He reasoned that his best option was to suffer this man's schemes for the time being, and subtly find a way back to Middle-earth in the meantime. Perhaps if they seemed docile and willing, Snow would let his guard down. But, then, Thorin was not sure whether his or his friends' pride would permit them to act so ignorantly agreeable.

He pondered, for a moment, forming an alliance with this country and then simply backing out once they were safely away and back in their own world. It was certainly within his power, but in another way, it wasn't. To take this course of action would be to violate a sacred code of conduct that had been an integral part of his race since Mahal had created them. A dwarf's word was his honor, and if his people found out that he had broken his, no matter the predicament, they would deem him a common criminal (much like the exiled Petty-dwarves). He would be unfit to rule, and would face dissension at every turn. More than that, he would never again be able or willing to look a member of his family in the eye, and he may even be banished himself. Indeed, it was a dreadful thing for a dwarf to go back on his word.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, he pondered what he might say in order to placate this man without giving in too much to the snake's desires. Before he had finished, however, Snow addressed him:

"I have determined a way that might… persuade you to help me."

Knowing that it would be in his best interest not to scoff at his wording, Thorin discarded the speech he had mentally prepared.

"Oh? And what maneuver have you planned that will be so powerful as to coax me into.. helping you?"

A cold, self-satisfied smile crept over Snow's face.

"You will be participating in a national event of ours. It's a favorite of the people here in the Capitol, actually. It is called the Hunger Games."

His statement was met with a confused silence, broken by Dwalin.

"What is this 'Hunger Games'?"

"It is an annual contest which began quite some time back. The upcoming competition marks the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. Each year, a young man and woman are chosen from each of our twelve districts. We call them tributes. They are taken from their homes into the Capitol and allowed a certain number of weeks to train, at the end of which they are placed into an arena. From there, the Capitol and all of the districts watch on live television- a device which allows a certain event to be seen all over the world- as they fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins the Games."

There was dead silence for a moment, as each of them tried to process this new information. Then came the pandemonium. All of the dwarves and Bilbo began shouting at once, conveying their outrage that such a horrific event should be taking place- and as a spectacle, no less.

Snow let them go on for a minute or so before holding up his hand for their silence. When it was apparent that this would not work, he spoke out with a booming voice (indeed, it was thunderous, for it covered thirteen angry dwarves and an enraged hobbit).

"Enough! It is necessary. We must have these things, however unpleasant they may seem to some. You of all people should understand, Thorin Oakenshield. You are a king."

"Understand?" Thorin spat. "Why should I pretend to understand the reason for your barbarism?"

"Because," Snow patiently explained. "People cannot simply be allowed to do whatever they like. They must be controlled."

"And to do so you must murder-? Nay, you must force men and women to murder each other?" He ground out, almost disbelieving this man's story. Surely something this savage could not be allowed to take place?

Nodding as if this made perfect sense, Snow went on.

"People need to fear their leader in order to be kept from gaining unsavory ideas of revolutions and uprisings and the like. I have already told you about District 13, which was destroyed for such acts of defiance. I have found that the only way to keep them in line is to show them the extent of the power which we hold over their meager little lives. We do that through the Hunger Games." Then he added, as if to himself: "Even now, sometimes I feel as if they don't really understand."

Not knowing how to argue with this delusional tyrant, Thorin returned to the original subject.

"You wish for us to fight in this disgusting tournament? In what way will having us killed help you?"

"Master Oakenshield, I do not wish you dead, most definitely, nor any of your companions. I've found that people function best to my purposes when they are constantly aware that their loved ones are in danger, and indeed, are mindful that any moment could be their last."

"So you wish to put us into this.. this arena, to fight. To what end?"

"Oh, only until you accept the terms of agreement which I have set forth, and establish a partnership between our two peoples. There are cameras everywhere in the arena, Thorin. These small, undetectable devices permit us to monitor your every move. You need merely to say something to the effect that you agree to create a union between Panem and the Dwarves of Middle-earth, and you and your friends will be removed immediately."

Thorin ruminated on this for a moment. An arena must be vulnerable somewhere. After all, no one can devise a perfect prison. Perhaps once they were all together inside whatever cage they were put in, they could hasten to find a way to break free. If they were fighting to the death, they would most likely be given weapons, which would aid them greatly. He was willing to bet that they could get at least a few of the other men and women to help them. Surely the people chosen against their will and placed in this brutal 'kill or be killed' situation couldn't be too thrilled about it.

"Alright, Snow. We will play along." He inclined his head toward him in assent, though kept his eyes locked on the taller man's. He did not trust him or respect him enough to avert his gaze. The others, who had been muttering amongst themselves, looked upon him with incredulity, not believing that their leader would have given in so easily. It soon dawned on them that he must have some semblance of a plan, however, so they remained silent. A few of the more clever ones had also been scheming, and thus had a pretty good idea of what Thorin had in mind.

The President's eyes bored into Thorin's, wondering, weighing his words. He had been informed about the stubbornness of dwarves, so he had expected more difficulty in getting them to accept their place in the Games. His informant had also told him that the dwarves were a cleverer race than they were often given credit for, so he suspected that they were attempting to use their quick wit to amend their circumstances. When understanding of their plot came to him, his eyes were engulfed in a bright light. He quickly extinguished it, hiding his emotions from the astute people standing before him while determining his next course of action. A burst of inspiration hit him. Of course! He mentally berated himself for not thinking of this before, and having to be goaded into the idea. His age was beginning to slow his mind, he noticed. Suppressing this disturbing realization, he spoke.

"The success of my plan is, obviously, contingent on your cooperation. I will get this one way or another, I want you to understand that. However, I would like to receive it with as little difficulty as possible on my end. Here is how it is going to work: I need you to worry, you see, about your friends and family, hence my putting them in direct danger, as I stated before. You must genuinely fear for their safety. If you are all confined in the safety of your little pack, you can easily protect each other, and thus we might arrive at an impasse. To ensure, then, that everything goes smoothly, I will be keeping some of you here, for.. well, let's call it insurance."

Normally, of course, Snow would never give so much of the information from his plot away so freely, especially to those on whom he would implement it. But in this case, he felt it necessary. He knew that they were not unintelligent, but he could take no chances on waiting for them to figure it out themselves. And perhaps if he had not planted that small seed of doubt and fear in their minds, they might never have reached the proper conclusion. It was better this way, he decided, even if he did have to breach his usually secretive nature a bit.

Exchanging nervous glances, the Company half-heartedly protested this, knowing that it was futile. Distress radiated off of them in waves. They had just been reunited! Even after their short time away from one another, they were rattled. To think that they would be kept apart again, especially during such a heinous event, shook them to the core. They did not, however, show this to the President. They had their pride, after all.

Thorin was beaten. He knew it, as did everyone else. He would not give up, of course. How could he? But what was the use? Even if they did manage to find a way out of the arena, his friends who were left in the Capitol would be killed. Taking into consideration the fact that he did not know which of them Snow would hold captive, that could even include his nephews. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat at the thought, he pondered the implications of an alliance with this man. Things might be very bad for a while, but eventually Snow would do something which would be harmful to their race, and they would be able to annul the affiliation with Panem without becoming oath-breakers. It was unpleasant to have to wait for such a thing to happen, but it could prove to be much worse if he and his heirs were killed in a foreign land, leaving his people unknowingly without a leader.

"Fine, you have won. I will accede to the union of our kingdoms." The proclamation left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even though he knew that he had done his best with the choice given him, he could not help but feel slightly guilty; it was as if he had somehow betrayed his subjects by doing anything in accordance with this wicked nation.

President Snow gave a triumphant smile. The others in the room immediately wished that they could slap it right off of his face.

"Good. That's very good. Though you realize you must still be a part of the Games, if only for a little while."

The Company roared in exasperation once again, and Thorin was similarly vexed.

"What is the meaning of this? I agree to do as you wish, and you still place us into this repulsive fixture?"

"I have already made the announcement of your addition to this year's Hunger Games. This is an unexpected twist, you see, and the people are wild with excitement."

"Then they shall have to be disappointed." Thorin glowered at him.

Snow looked affronted.

"And break my promise? I couldn't. They trust me."

"Can't imagine why." Muttered Nori from the corner.

Indeed, they were all skeptical of this.

"Why would the people who you murder trust you?" Fili asked derisively.

"The people of the Capitol trust me because they are simple-minded. They don't care for politics or questions of morality. It is enough for them that they live in a constant state of grandeur and entertainment, and the more difficult things in life are handled by their government."

Thorin shook his head to himself and then spoke to Snow again.

"No misfortune will befall us during our short time in the arena?" This was posed more as a demand, but Snow ignored it.

"Most likely not. As long as you behave yourselves, I think it will probably work out in your favor. You are warriors, after all. Though this year you will have to be on your guard. While the tributes are usually young, the ones you will face this year are mostly not."

Their stomachs churned at the thought of killing innocent people, no matter their age.

Looking at him dubiously, Balin questioned him in the politest tone he could muster.

"And what is the 'usual' age of the tributes?"

Snow looked pensive for a fraction of a moment, debating whether or not he should answer.

"Usually they would each be somewhere between the ages of twelve and eighteen." He confessed nonchalantly.

More than a few of them fell into a sudden coughing fit.

"Twelve and- they're but CHILDREN!" Bofur exclaimed.

"Yes, they are. That's the point." The President spoke in a somewhat guarded tone. He knew that they would react this way, but he was somewhat worried that they would refuse to comply after this tidbit of information came out. Dwarves were extremely protective of their young, after all. Perhaps that would extend to those of other races, as well. Shrugging internally, he remembered that he had other means by which he could get their cooperation if things went south, and resolved not to trouble himself on the topic any longer.

"Forcing people to kill each other is bad enough, but to put children through such a thing! Oh, the horror of it all." Dori whispered, casting a terrified glance to his younger brothers.

Thorin couldn't help but look back at his nephews. He deliberated over what he would do if he were a citizen of this cruel country and one of them should be chosen to take part in the Hunger Games. From what he knew about the human aging process (which was, admittedly, little), Fili and Kili would both be somewhere around 18, the age limit for the competition. He couldn't imagine having to stand by and witness their brutal murder, being utterly incapable of stopping it. How did the parents of these children not go mad with grief? But then, perhaps they did. While he detested President Snow in every sense of the word, he couldn't help but see the sadistic cleverness of it all. What better way to beat people into submission than to sacrifice their children right before their eyes? The mere thought that any talk of revolution might cause the instigator's own children to be thrown into the arena would be enough to quell the uprising. With that thought, he wondered just how "random" this selection truly was.

Out of the blue, Kili spoke to the President.

"You said that the.. tributes, are usually young, but this year that is not the case. Why is that? And won't the people of your country be suspicious at the sudden addition of several unknown, unaffiliated people?"

Shaking his head, Snow replied.

"The upcoming Games will be a bit different than usual. This being the seventy-fifth Hunger Games, it is what we call a Quarter Quell. In a Quarter Quell, there is always a defining quality; something to make it stand out from the other Games. In the fiftieth Hunger Games, for instance, we chose forty-eight tributes, instead of twenty-four. This year, we will be choosing the tributes from the previous victors, and, we'll be throwing in another twist: you. That brings us to your other question. You will be introduced as several hardened criminals who must pay for their crimes, while provided quality entertainment for the viewers." He winked at them as he said this, considering the ruse he thought up to be quite humorous. The others didn't share in his mirth.

Rolling his eyes, Thorin pondered aloud:

"You wish to be allies with us. I'm sure that even your people would have a hard time accepting such a deal with 'hardened criminals'."

Snow smirked, realizing how little these dwarves understood of his society.

"They will not know about the alliance, nor would they care to. They mind their own business, and do as we say."

"If we are supposed to be 'paying for our crimes', what will you say to your people when we are suddenly pulled out of the arena?" Fili inquired, suspicion evident in his tone.

Snow gave him a hard look.

"Just you leave that to me."

The Company grumbled, dissatisfied. What if this man turned out to be a trickster, and wouldn't let them leave the arena after all? Would they be forced to watch as their loved ones are killed for sport?

"In order to better prepare you for what is coming, you are going to watch a recording of last year's Hunger Games. That will give you some idea of what you're up against. Until then, I would advise you to say your goodbyes to one another. After all, the arena is a dangerous place, and you never know when you'll be seeing one another again."

Nearly all of them narrowed their eyes at this. Hadn't he said that they would get out safely if they played along? Confound this man and his twisting, ever-changing words!

"Wait!" Dori cried out. "Which of us are you putting into the arena?"

The President smiled mischievously at them.

"I'd hurry, if I were you. You won't have long in here." He left the room then, all of the Peacekeepers marching in formation behind him. They watched the doors slide closed before they moved. The various families among them found another and began saying hurried farewells. It was difficult and awkward, seeing as they weren't sure which of them would be facing the more immediate danger of the arena, but they settled for wishing each other good luck in whatever trials they would have to endure in the coming days.

Dwarves aren't known for their sentimentality, so despite their concern for the welfare of their kin, they were finished rather quickly. Grouping together in the middle of the room, they began to discuss various ideas they had on how to escape the clutches of this tyrannical overlord. Those of them who had been in Snow's private study remembered that it was by some sort of advanced knowledge of science which enabled these people to summon them to Panem. They shared this information with the rest of the Company, all of whom woefully admitted that without such understanding, it was unlikely they would be able to see themselves home.

After a moment, they fell silent. What was there to say? Their plight was practically hopeless. Thorin felt this more keenly than the others. This was his quest, and he had asked these dwarves to come with him. Of course, he had not anticipated their sudden removal from their home-world, but it still seemed to him that he had failed them. Several of them had families waiting for them in Ered Luin. He doubted whether they would ever see them again. He did not trust Snow's word that they would be safe, not for one moment. It was likely that Snow would extract a promise of gold or something of that ilk, and then kill them all. But then, a more optimistic voice said, there would be no one to take back Erebor. If the Lonely Mountain wasn't reclaimed, what good would any promise of payment be? They would have to be sent back in order to fulfill this dangerous quest. Perhaps they could make it out of this, after all. But even with that idea came the realization that they might not all be sent back. It made him nauseous to think about, so he returned his mind to the present predicament.

"So… what are we going to do?" Kili asked Thorin.

Thorin looked at him.

"We will do what is expected of us. We'll play along with Snow's Game. But I believe we're all experienced enough fighters to avoid harming any of the young ones in the arena, if they do attack us. We'll do what is necessary to survive, and no more. Soon enough we'll be out of there and back into our own world. From there, we'll continue on our quest."

Unhappily, the Company agreed. They bemoaned the fact that they could do nothing else, but accepted it nonetheless.

They wandered around the room for a short time, speaking with one another and complaining about the entire ordeal they were in. Not long after, several Peacekeepers entered the room and ushered them out, guiding them back to their own rooms.

Once they were settled back into their glorified cells, a screen slid silently forward from the wall, and flickered to life. The dwarves and Bilbo, beyond shock at whatever this new invention was, watched uninterestedly as a rather fat man toddled from his chair across a stage and began a lengthy speech which applauded the nation's violent and wicked history. He praised the Capitol for their generosity and benevolence, and then took a seat. A women dressed in one of the strangest outfits (if it could indeed be called an outfit- it hung off of her body and left little to the imagination, making several of the Company turn away automatically in embarrassment) they had ever seen teetered over to the pedestals which occupied the center of the stage. Atop the pedestals were two enormous glass bowls. The garishly-dressed woman reached into one (after tittering and mentioning something about "ladies first") and pulled out one of the numerous slips of paper inside; unfolding it, she dramatically called out an odd-sounding name (They heard 'Glimmer', but the rest of it sounded garbled and they weren't sure exactly what sort of title or name it was), which turned out to belong to a young woman.

The young lady in question looked much older than 18, and they decided that she must have narrowly made it inside of the age-limit for this competition. Though perhaps it was just the hardened facial expression and murderous glint in her eyes that added so many years to her. She sauntered up to the stage, trying to look as haughty and dignified as possible. Before she made it to the steps, several other girls jumped out of the crowd and began to loudly proclaim something about volunteering. The scene turned the stomachs of the other-worldly viewers. These children actually wanted to be chosen? What manner of lies had they been fed which made them think that being a tribute was a thing to be desired?

After the fight had settled, the originally-chosen girl prevailing, it was time to pick the young man who would be competing. A frenzy similar to the one they witnessed with the girls took place, but the boys were more physical with their assertions.

Eventually the Reaping (as they learned this selective ceremony was called) ended, but first the two tributes were made to shake hands, as if they were about to enter a friendly debate instead of a massacre. Just when they thought they could no longer be surprised at anything this twisted country threw at them…

Several more Reapings passed, much like the first. After the first few, however, they noticed a marked difference. The further into the districts they got, fewer volunteers stepped forward. As they got past the fourth or fifth, there were none at all. The families of the chosen grew more agitated, many even crying out when their dear child was chosen. At one point, a distraught mother had to be restrained by Peacekeepers (rather viciously, they thought), because she tried to run to her young son, whose name had been called out by the hauntingly high-pitched voice.

Finally, the video came to the very last Reaping. District 12 was positively dismal, and it's inhabitants looked even more so.

There was something in this Reaping even more disconcerting than those before it. It took them a while to pinpoint, but at last they realized: everything was completely and utterly silent. There were no whispers passed between the people in the crowd, nor between the groups of young men and women waiting to be chosen. There were no bleats of sheep, nor caws of crows. It was eery, and gave off an uncomfortable feeling of dread and hopelessness. That must have been it, they perceived. These people were from the poorest district. Their children were haggard and malnourished, looking very weak indeed. Everything around them, from the sky to the ground, was grey. How many of the Hunger Games had this district's tributes won? It couldn't have been many, if the faces in the crowd were anything to go on. They probably assumed that whomever was chosen was as good as dead.

The female announcer from the Capitol was no less ridiculous than those from the other Reapings. She was wearing the same hideous face paint that made her look absolutely ghoulish, dressed in the same gaudy style of clothing, and she spoke with the same bizarre accent that, strangely, was a mix somewhere between Thorin's and the President's.

She stood perched in front of the glass bowls, appearing sickeningly excited about the goings on. But then, it was hard to tell exactly what she was feeling, with her queer painted mask disguising her true expressions. Drawing a card out of the pool of girls' names, she opened it with a flourish and called out,

"Primrose Everdeen!"

At this, the previously stony gathering began to stir, murmuring among themselves in discontent. After a long moment, a young child stepped out of the mass. The poor thing was terrified, but she was obviously trying to put on a brave face. Or perhaps her courageous facade was merely due to shock, the full consequences of her name being chosen not having fully sunk in. The Company felt sick themselves. They didn't know who had won last year's Games, but they were fairly certain it hadn't been this lass. Had she died a slow, painful death? Wondering if they themselves would be pitted against young ones such as this, they watched the proceedings with a growing sense of foreboding.

Primrose had nearly reached the poorly-constructed stage when a commotion arose from within the group of girls. The shot panned down to capture a young lady, not much older than the one whose name had been called moments before, stumbling frantically into the open. She sprinted toward the young tribute.

"Prim! Prim!" She screamed, her voice cracking. What on earth did this girl think she was going to accomplish? Though they supposed they couldn't fault her. She was acting out of fear for this young girl.

The Company watched with bated breath as the Peacekeepers closed in on her. They hoped for her sake that she would settle down quickly, as they had no desire to see harm come to her by these masked men.

But as they were trying to restrain her, something wholly unexpected happened.

"I volunteer!" The girl shouted. "I volunteer!" There was a shocked pause.

"I volunteer as tribute!" She shouted, more steadily this time. She calmed her face down by a fraction and managed to look somewhat composed. The Company could tell that they weren't the only ones surprised by her sudden outburst. The shock was evident among the inhabitants of District 12, shared even by the Capitol woman on stage (though she looked more pleased than anything). To this point, the dwarves and Bilbo had assumed that the entirety of this land shared the ideal "every man for himself", as the only volunteers this far had been those looking not to save the precious life of a friend or sibling, but to find glory through the killing of innocent lads and lasses. And yet, unfolding before their very eyes, was an act of pure self-sacrifice. What hope could this girl have to win? She would surely be among the first slaughtered. And yet, she goes willingly to her death just to keep this "Primrose" safe. At this moment, a small flame of hope was sparked in them. If there were more people in Panem like this girl, then perhaps their country wasn't as doomed as they had originally thought.

Being beckoned by the woman on stage, she walked with stiff, difficult steps up the stairs and across the creaking boards of the platform. A brief questioning had revealed her name to be Katniss Everdeen, sister to the young Primrose. The woman grossly misjudged her motives for volunteering, however. She, coming from a city of spoiled, self-indulgent citizens, assumed that everyone took as much enjoyment in the Games as those from the Capitol did, and jumped to the conclusion that Katniss had volunteered for a chance at fame. Part of them wondered if she would ever learn the real reason behind the sister's act of bravery. The other part knew that even if she did, she could never understand.

After a moment, the woman drew a name from the opposite bowl. When she called the boy's name, Katniss visibly flinched. The lad looked terrified as he drew near the stage. His entire body looked frozen, though he took slow steps toward his destination. Once he was there, the woman guided him toward the girl. After introducing them as the newest tributes from District 12, they shook hands firmly. A look passed between the two that did not go unnoticed by the Company. Perhaps they knew one another. It was a small district, after all.

Smiling gruesomely at the crowd, the woman stood up a little straighter, arms poised in the air at her sides.

"Happy Hunger Games," She cooed. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."


End file.
